At This Point In My Life
by Ghani Hwi
Summary: Her master’s wrath had held for her a horrible fascination. In one moment, her future lay bleeding to death and shaking on the courtyard floor...one heartbeat and her life had changed forever.
1. Part I

_A/N : Briefly as possible- I own none of these characters, I merely borrowed them for a time. HBO and its affiliates at the BBC own the characters from Rome. One shot that turned into two pages- a fleshing out of the Eirene/Pullo conflict from the final few episodes of Season 1. Formatting with drives me batshit- so if this is difficult to read, just let me know.  
_

* * *

Night's mantle fell quickly and covered every roof. The moon, wane and hidden full from sight, gave no light to touch the inky blackness that seemed to crowd against even the brightest lamp. Every room seemed now too small and every noise too loud- it was not a night for easy sleep. Even those who could find rest did not hold it easily, and dreams soon turned into terrors.

She was not asleep, but neither was she awake. She was walking through the half-world between waking life and illusion. Her wide, round eyes stared straight ahead, though she did not see across the room to where her sleeping companion tossed fitfully on her bed, but instead she looked across a great vista of bleached rock and sand- many miles both wide and long. The glare across the land made tears stream down her face, but she would not flinch; heat rippled from the rocks around her in thick, oppressive waves. A thin, black snake wound its way across the pale ground, gathering depth and breadth as it worked its way toward where she stood. Suddenly, the snake was a snake no longer, but a wide river, rolling in thunderous torrents and bearing down upon her, bellowing in rage and fervor. A crimson river, a river that rolled and seemed to catch the wind like a legionary's cloak- a river of blood. It washed over her feet and rose up to her knees, desperate to pull her down.

Her eyes snapped into focus. A thin sheen of sweat ran the length of her spine and caused her to shiver uncontrollably. Instinctively, she reached out for one who was not there- one who would never be there again. How often had she sought comfort from his arms? And now he lay dead, his strong heart that had measured the beat of her dreams was gone as though he had never existed. As she tucked her knees up to her chest she felt the warm tears slide down her neck and land on her already wet pillow.

_ He should have let me die._

* * *

Eirene's nightmares had left her sleepless, and her shattered heart had left her hollow. There was no more strength within her to mourn, no more dulled shock to bear. Her work bore her through the day in a stupor; at meals she ate little and spoke not a word. What was there to say? Why nourish her body and suffer herself to survive another day? Grief had soured into despair, and with every remembrance of that awful day, yet only two weeks past, she again lifted that bitter poison to her lips and drank full- quenching the light of forgiveness and glutting her sorrow instead.

Her master's face, so dark and horrible, streaked in blood and drawn down tight with rage, consumed her thoughts and caused her to tremble with the memory of it. How cruel and evil he had shown himself to truly be- how right the other servants had been to call him brute and animal- for he was untamed and violent, heartless as a lion who would shred through flesh and bone of a babe without remorse.

At first she had struggled to learn the words of these Romans, yet even in her broken speech, she had feebly made to correct those who spoke ill of her master. Had he not once saved her life? Brought her to these people, a family strict, but fair?

He _had_ saved her life, and so blinded her to his true nature. His eyes, once she thought looked upon her in pity and wonder, now seemed only to laugh at her naiveté as she thought back again and again to the day he had found her half dead and bound to a cart. Her memory struggled to faithfully remember how he had looked upon her then- for each time she drew back, only the face of a jackel, grinning horribly and smelling of rotting flesh and blood, stood in his place.

Why had she pitied him? Why had she ever thought him kind? Now she could not remember. Somewhere hidden within his eyes, for it was a very small and fragile thing, she had thought she had seen a flicker, like the end of a taper, glowing dimly but stubbornly. It had given his smiles the warmth of compassion and his eyes the barest hint of joy. Surely she had imagined such a thing- that creature that lay curled and watchful within his breast had struck out and consumed any such goodness she may have fancied she saw. Now the beast controlled the man- and instead of her master, she could see only the wicked, twisted animal his body nursed.

She had not seen her old master since that day and since that day she had been free. It felt odd to be called a freedman, she did not feel free. The chains that bound her in place seemed only heavier and harder to bear. Did all slaves feel such emptiness when freed by their masters? How could she have known what that day, a day that should have been joyful, would bring?

What slave did not love a master who treated her kindly, handled her gently? But what slave would ever presume upon those actions of their master? Masters were not thought of as lovers- yet such had been Pullo's intentions, she reasoned. When he had told her she was freed, she had though her heart would burst with joy- her only thoughts were of her lover- now they could be married! And Titus Pullo- how generous and wonderful he was! She had nearly cried with happiness when she toldher love that they should take the name of Pullo when they were married- for she wanted to pay homage to her master's greatness for the rest of her life. He was so small, standing in front of Titus Pullo, thanking him in broken Latin, thanking him for setting Eirene free, and then...and then...

At first there had only been confusion and fear. Screaming filled her ears as she held the motionless body of her love, still warm from the life that had been taken but a few moments earlier. Her eyes crowded with tears again as she heard that awful sound of bone cracking against stone repeatedly, violently. The sound pounded in her ears, threatening to drive her mad.

Born a slave, Eirene had been raised beneath a whip and watchful eye. While she had thoughts and hopes and dreams all her own, she could not help her nature- to delight in pleasing her masters and to bear their beatings with acceptance. She was not weak, indeed, her heart and body were strong, and though she could neither read nor write and possessed but a simple intelligence, she thrived by virtue of her steadfast and stalwart perseverance. Passion was something she could not understand- it stood too far apart from what she had been conditioned to feel. Her master's wrath had held for her a horrible fascination. In one moment, her future lay bleeding to death and shaking on the courtyard floor- one heartbeat and her life had changed forever.

_ He should have let me die. _Her feet carried her onward.

* * *

The wine tasted bitter against his tongue and his countenance turned down. The tavern was alive with music and laughter, and though oil lamps glittered in every corner, the light seemed to shun his face, leaving it to the shadows.

_ This is as it should be. _He thought sardonically. Cast off from every friendly shore and left alone to drift and rot. _Why should my fate be anything else?_ Ribald comrades in the 13th and whores made good company, but had never been his true friends. They had suffered his presence for their oaths or his coin, never for his words. And Eirene? What had he wanted, expected of her? The memory of her face, stricken and horrified, looking upon him as one would upon a vile, malformed beast, was too recent, too raw for him to bear. He pushed her away. The last of his glass drained, he walked out into the eventide, seeing neither night nor day as a singular purpose filled his thoughts.

His mind was viscous and black as pitch, gurgling merrily as it slowly choked the last of his humanity. _I am Titus Pullo. I slaughter men, I take whores to my bed, I rot my body with wine. So I was created, so I must be._ How pale and distant his ideas of living out a rural life with Eirene now seemed. He burned with shame at the thought of how foolish he had been. _I only allowed myself to believe lies. _His step quickened.

The payment for his services as a sellsword rattled hollowly in his belt. His blood money weighed heavily against his thigh, reminding him with each dull clink what portion of his soul he had sold for their purchase, and what still remained ahead of him this evening.

Night had come full and heavy by the time he crossed paths with his mark. The man was old and unarmed, his skin stank of a fear that curled Pullo's nose. This was not honor. This was vile and hateful to him, but he dared not stay his hand as it drove deep into the old man's chest.

_ I am the monster she saw within. _His wrist flicked and drove the knife between the elder's ribs and into his heart. Death would come more quickly now. Pullo laid him down, not daring to touch the gold circlet around his neck or the coins within his pockets. Let the other scavengers have their game.

His arms were wet with blood, yet he made no move to clean them and instead curled up in a doorway dimly lit by torches, studying them in silence until they had long since dried. _I am Titus Pullo. This is who I am._

Hours later he found himself in a drugged stupor. The whores who had entertained him had fled, taking with them everything of value he had carried upon his person. What did it matter? The coin could not buy ignorance, the opiate forgiveness, and fucking them had not brought forgetting. Every vice that had once brought him pleasure only served to plague him with guilt and shame.

* * *

Fragments of rumor drove her mad. It had been a week, and the streets still rang with his name- Titus Pullo had been saved from death in the arena by Magistrate Vorenus! Brotherhood- the 13th! Old friends fighting together, fighting with the fury of the gods against ten men- twenty men- fifty men! Whispers and catches of phrases worried at the wounds Eirene had so desperately tended and healed. Why had he not died? It was enough that his name echoed throughout the streets stringed with praise, but now artists had emblazoned scenes from the arena across buildings and mummers reenacted the battle in garish detail. Every street corner bore her relentlessly back to memories of Pullo. He had been condemned to die in the arena for murdering a merchant in broad daylight- but in the arena he had not been killed, thanks to Lucius Vorenus. He had been badly wounded, and many thought him dead- but no one knew where he was, if dead, where was his body? If still living, where was he hidden away?

She could find no respite, save in the house of Vorenus, where Pullo's name was still unspoken. It was her one solace, to know that so far as she could see, Lucius did not intend to rekindle his friendship with the brute.

On any ordinary day, she would have been at market, purchasing fruits and herbs for her mistress' dinner, but on this day she had stayed home- another had been sent in her place so that she might finish work on a new dress for her young mistress. Sunlight streamed into the open courtyard, bathing the pale stones in light and taking the edge off of the day's chill breeze. Magistrate Vorenus returned, walking with his usual strong gait across the court. He was met by one of the other slaves of the house- his words caught Eirene's ears and halted her steps.

"Titus Pullo…he asked to be brought here."

Eirene's heart stopped dead in her chest. Impossible. No one knew where he was. He had been wounded- near death- in the arena. He could not have lived, he could not be here.

Time slowed, seized, halted. There was nothing in this world except the open doorway of the house and her- standing as still and dumb as a wild creature facing down the speeding shaft of an arrow. With a delicate, nearly silent snap, she felt her heart break open, spilling all of her agony out in merciless rivers.


	2. Part II

When she awoke it was already nightfall. She lay covered in her bed, still wearing her working dress, now covered in dirt and wet with tears she did not remember crying. She was not weeping now, and instead her features had hardened, the light within her eyes extinguished. A horrible darkness she had not known to live within her now crept into the cracks of her shattered heart, filling her with a hate that blinded all other senses.

Her body moved of its own volition, pushing the coverlet slowly down, stepping onto the worn wooden floor, crossing the room in cat-like silence. She was dimly aware of the dagger clutched in her right hand as she ascended the stairway that led to where he lay.

A singular thought now filled her with purpose- she must kill him. So long as Titus Pullo lived, she would find no peace. Alive he plagued her hope and filled her with bitterness- he must be killed and her suffering must stop. Everything she had wanted and dreamed for in this world had been so very small, very frail indeed, compared to the desires of great men- but the dreams had been hers alone, and he had crushed them in his ugly soldier's hands. Why not repay the life taken by giving the gods back an equal sacrifice? Her knuckles whitened around the hilt.

The room was lit only by candles, and those very faint. She could not see his face at first, only his prone body, wrapped in a dirty tunic that had been rent in several places and splattered with blood. Her throat closed to a pin's breadth. Slowly her tongue slipped out over her cracked lips- she could not turn away now. Summoning all of her strength, she moved toward the bed.

* * *

Dreams. So many dreams, too many dreams. Some of his mother, some of Eirene, some of the arena. One of verdant countryside and a long, dreary road stretching ahead for many miles. One of a dark-skinned queen with obsidian eyes. They could not all have been dreams- had he not spoken with Lucius Vorenus today? He was in Rome, though he could not remember how he had come here.

It was a faint sound, much like a mouse creeping along the floorboards. Someone was in the room. His eyes opened, focusing sluggishly on the slight shadow of a woman. His wits had been dulled by the draughts they fed him to make him sleep, and it was some moments before he recognized the wraith-like form to be Eirene, dimly lit by the skipping candlelight. How wonderful she looked. Her hair caught the light and held it, giving her curls a thin golden halo. She was still in her working shift, yet she may well have been dressed in silks and satins- she could not have looked more beautiful. He sighed her name- how long had he wanted to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness. She moved forward slowly, and that's when he saw it.

"What have you got there?"

Now she was within arms reach- yet even with his wrists bound to the bed to keep his wounds from tearing, he could not have raised a hand to restrain her. The dagger came up to his throat, her face never flickering with emotion. Shamefacedly, he forced his eyes to meet her own- within those hard, lifeless orbs he could see the darkness, the sorrow and pain he had driven into her. His sweet Eirene- now hardened and hateful, holding his life within her hands and not a tremor of her fingers.

_How could I have hurt you so?_

"Fair enough." His eyes shut, thinking next to feel the clean, exquisite pain of the blade drawing across his neck, and the inevitable slow ebb of life leaving his body. It did not come. When he reopened his eyes, he found her still staring at him intently, searching him, looking somehow through his eyes and into the deeper, hidden places. Suddenly he broke his eyes away and nervously laughed.

"Of course, if you can't- that's fine too." The jape was thin, and she refused to divert her piercing gaze. Her arm had not moved, the dagger still pressed slightly into the skin, nicking it slightly and drawing a thin trail of blood. A shadow shifted behind Eirene and Pullo's eyes jumped to its source.

At once, Niobe was in the room, seemingly having come from nowhere. Her eyes quickly surveyed the scene. "Eirene? What are you doing?" The dagger was quickly withdrawn.

* * *

Eirene turned over in her bed and hugged her arms around her chest. Sleep would not come this night, and even now a faint grayness was creeping around the edges of the doors and windows, heralding the approaching dawn. She had him, the knife to his throat, his arms bound down to the bed, no resistance, no one there to stop her, nothing standing between her will and his mortality. The muscles in her arms had strained and screamed for action, wanting to pull the knife through that rough flesh, her broken heart bayed for the blood of this man. Yet, in one moment, something had given her pause, something unexpected and fleeting passed between the two of them that stayed her hand for the briefest moment, long enough for Niobe to come in and catch her leaning over Pullo with a dagger pressed to his neck.

How could it be? She had wondered then in amazement, how could it be that even facing his own death, she had seen in his face a softened, almost peaceful look- as though death by her hands was deserved and welcome? He felt pain- this great giant of a man felt sorrow and regret- not so much for his actions, but that those actions had directly wounded her. In his way, clumsy and rough though it may be, he loved her. As much as he could, he loved her. The realization did nothing to salve her wounds, his love could not excuse his impassioned rage- only explain it.

As she lay sleepless in bed that night, many memories flowed back to her- all of Titus Pullo and how now she better understood everything about him. She had wondered more than once why he had not taken her forcibly- many times she met his eyes to see him looking at her like a starving man upon an oasis. Yet, he had never demanded anything of her, he had always handled her as though she were frail and fragile- anytime he touched her, he would allow his calloused hand to linger but a moment before removing it quietly.

That night when he had been drinking heavily and had spoken to her about his mother, about his life- how he had looked at her then! She had accepted that in his stupor, carnal lust would overpower whatever hold his senses had placed upon his actions, and she would have to submit to him. He had asked her to take off her dress- his eyes drinking in every inch of her body, and then…

Nothing. Like a child to his mother, he had pressed his head into her chest, hugging her desperately. Now she understood. Now she knew. It was not just her body Pullo desired- he did not want her if he could not have her heart. He wanted her whole- to give herself to him by loving him as he loved her. She held over him a great and terrible power, and suddenly she realized who was master and who was slave- the thought made her uneasy as she rose to clean her face and start another day.

* * *

Sunlight danced across the floor in playful yellow beams, dancing over the covers and opening his eyes. The gray sky had broken for the first time in a week, spilling peaceful, warm light over the entire city. He blinked and knuckled his eyes. For a while, he lay in bed, his face turned toward the open window, his thoughts many miles away. Slowly an idea began to grow in his mind until it was no longer a mere thought, but a thought that must be put into action. Today was a perfect day for a journey- and this one could not be delayed until tomorrow. Besides, Vorenus would be at the Senate house today, there would be nothing to occupy his mind at the house, why not take a walk to the country?

His head still throbbed a little as his eyes squinted in the morning sunlight. Slowly, deliberately, he wrapped a crust of bread and a small brick of cheese in a piece of cloth before packing them into his satchel. It would take him the better part of the morning to walk out to the shrine, best to take something to eat.

Lost in his thoughts, it was a few moments before he noticed he was not alone- Eirene had entered the kitchen and was watching him thoughtfully. He snapped his circlets onto his wrists.

"I am going out to the shrine of Recina, to ask forgiveness for all the things I have done." The words themselves made him feel shameful, and though he could not say why, he quickly added, "You can come along, if you like." Eirene paused for a moment in the doorway, regarding him with one final look before walking out. Pullo turned his eyes to his packing.

_Gods, grant me peace._ With a final check to be certain he had forgotten nothing, he slung his pack over his shoulder and walked out onto the bustling streets of Rome.

The Senate session today had left the streets mercifully clear. The market district was still a press of people haggling, arguing, selling, trading- Pullo made his way easily enough through the throng. Pausing to glance at a vendor selling pounded metal mirrors, Pullo suddenly caught a glimpse, a trick of the eye in one of the shining bowls- Eirene. He spun around and there, just ten paces behind him, stood Eirene, a basket tucked under her arm and her eyes meeting his own.

* * *

He looked surprised for a moment, then his face fell again and he turned, resuming his steady pace through the market. There was a ripe smell of fish and cattle mixing with the stench of the poverty that surrounded the district; Eirene did not notice. Some existential force, something she could neither understand nor name, drew her along behind Pullo.

When she had left the kitchen earlier this morning, she had wandered into the courtyard. There, to her right, was the fountain where water was drawn for the house, there, in front of her, the open archway that led onto the street, to her left, the stairwell leading up to the main entryway of the house. Was this her home? Was this where she belonged? What remained here, now, for her to cleave to? She slipped her feet from their sandals and stepped over the cold stones to where she had last seen her love, where she had held him in her arms as he breathed his last. The ground had been scoured, but the blood did not wash so easily- she knelt and pressed her fingertips to the stone.

_How could the one who took everything from me now be the only thing left to me?_ In a moment, she knew what she must do. Her hands worked quickly, packing away those few things that she had- a bracelet of gold and blue glass, covered in strange writings, a dress, cream colored and stained red with blood, a small, thin brass band with her name carved into the inside that her lover had given her, a small statue of Venus.

Pullo had not noticed her following, though it did not matter. She had not come along to be pleasant company. She only knew that wherever he went, she must follow- to live in his sight brought her constant reminder, ever-present sorrow, but to live apart was to be severed from the last thread that held her in this world. The city slowly melted away as the morning dew, giving way to rolling green countryside and ancient trees turning their up-stretched arms to the sky. Pullo never slowed nor spoke to her, giving her leave to follow or remain as she wished.

* * *

He felt her presence keenly, as closely as if she had been keeping pace at his side. He knew she followed him still, her silent, shuffling step did not falter.

The shrine of Recina stood, squat and covered in supplications just at the turn of the road. He fell to his knees at the base, pressing his palms into the earth and calling for the gods to hear him. Time lagged, his hands moved carefully through the proper motions, the rituals. His lips parted and entreated, begging forgiveness, laying his sins upon the shrine and offering what little was left of him unto the gods mercy.

Eirene stood not far off, watching him. The sun's light had snuck in between the branches of the trees, lacing the ground in delicate shadows. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from the shrine where candles had been left to burn.

His prayers sent, Pullo stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. His eyes passed over Eirene, but he could not look at her. He started back toward the city, feeling somehow foolish for allowing himself to believe in the superstitions of the masses- had the gods ever shown him true favor? Why had he asked Eirene to come witness his shame? Just as his thoughts turned to darkness, something light, like the beating of a bird's wing, fluttered against his hand. He started, but did not stop walking- there, walking alongside him was Eirene, her fingers woven into his own. Pullo tightened his grip slightly.

_I will never harm you again. I will protect you._


End file.
